My Husband Tricked Me into Carrying My Best Friend’s Twins

The Lennox estate glittered like it had something to prove.

Crystal chandeliers. A string quartet playing my mother's favorite Vivaldi. A long table dressed in white roses and silver, every place card written in a looping hand I recognized.

Brielle's handwriting.

"Natalie. You made it."

My father's business partner, Hal Dressler, kissed my cheek and looked past me before he'd even pulled away. "Where's your dad? Ah. There he is."

There he was. Richard Hart, sixty-five, silver-haired and laughing. Brielle stood at his elbow in midnight-blue silk, her arm hooked through his like she'd been born there.

"Richard, you remember the Okafors from Meridian Shipping?" she said. "They flew in from Charlotte just for you."

"Of course I remember." My father beamed at her. "What would I do without this girl?"

*This girl.* He used to call me that.

Across the room, Grant moved through the guests with a twin on each hand. Maisie wore the yellow dress I'd picked. Evan had a clip-on bow tie already hanging sideways.

"Aunt Bri!" Maisie broke free and ran. She wrapped both arms around Brielle's legs. "You look like a princess!"

A woman near the bar laughed. "Is that their aunt?"

"Godmother," Grant said, scooping Evan up. "But honestly? She's basically their second mom."

"Second mom!" Evan crowed. "Second mom, second mom!"

People chuckled. Someone said *how sweet.*

Grant caught my eye over the crowd and winked.

A year ago, I would've marched over. I would've fixed Evan's tie and made a joke and tried to stand close enough to my father that he'd pull me into the photo.

Tonight, I took a glass of sparkling water and found a spot by the window. And I watched.

I watched Brielle touch my father's sleeve every time she wanted him to laugh. I watched Grant check his phone, then look at her. I watched the twins orbit her like small, happy moons.

Nobody came to stand by me. That told me plenty.

Dinner came in five courses. Halfway through the fish, Brielle tapped her glass with a spoon.

"Sorry, everyone. Just a tiny moment." She rose, cheeks pink. "Richard, I hope you don't mind. But years ago, at the twins' christening, you made a promise. Remember?"

My father leaned back, delighted. "Remind me."

"You said that on your sixty-fifth, you'd set up a family trust for Evan and Maisie. So they'd always have a piece of Hart Industries." She pressed a hand over her heart. "You said it was the most important thing a grandfather could do."

The table murmured.

"And of course, with the kids so young, a trust like that needs trusted adults to help guide the voting shares. People who are close to them every single day." She smiled at Grant. Then at the twins. Never at me.

My father lifted his glass. "She's right. I did say that." He looked around the table. "So let's make it official. Twenty percent of my voting stock goes into a trust for my grandchildren. I'll have the lawyers draw it up in the next few weeks."

Applause rolled down the table.

Twenty percent. With my father's shares split, twenty percent steered by Grant and Brielle would outvote me on every board decision that mattered.

"That's incredible, Richard." Grant reached over and laced his fingers through mine. He squeezed, warm and firm. "Their future comes first. Right, Nat? That's all we've ever wanted."

Every eye at the table drifted to our joined hands.

I slid mine free.

Slowly. In full view of everyone.

"Dad," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

His smile thinned. "Now?"

"I own eighteen percent of Hart Industries. I sit on the board. Why is this the first time I'm hearing about moving a fifth of the company into a trust?"

The quartet kept playing. Nobody at our table lifted a fork.

"For God's sake, Natalie." My father set his glass down with a crack. "It's my birthday. Can you go one evening without turning everything into a negotiation?"

"It's a fair question."

"It's a *greedy* question. About your own children."

Brielle stepped around her chair and crouched beside me. She took my wrist in both hands, gentle as a nurse.

"Babe. Hey. It's okay." She lowered her voice, but not enough. "Everyone, she's had a really emotional week. She canceled her surgery at the last minute yesterday, and I think her hormones are just—"

Grant's head snapped toward her.

Just for a second. His face went blank. Then the color drained out of it.

He hadn't known.

*She* had.

I let that sink in, and something cold and almost funny bubbled up in my chest. I didn't laugh. I just looked at Brielle until she let go of my wrist.

"How did you know I canceled, Bri?"

She blinked. "Grant told me."

"Grant thinks I went through with it."

Grant cleared his throat, too loud. "Okay. Let's not do this here." He stood and turned to the table, palms out, voice heavy with patience. "I'm sorry, everybody. Nat's been really… suspicious lately. Checking my phone. Questioning everything. It's been hard on the kids. On all of us."

Aunt Carol clicked her tongue. Hal Dressler muttered something to his wife. A photographer near the dessert table lowered his camera.

I could feel it. That slow tide of judgment rising around me, the same one I'd been drowning in for years.

"Natalie," my father said through his teeth. "Apologize to your husband."

I stood.

"You're right, Dad. This is about family. About the Hart bloodline." I set my napkin on my plate. "So before we hand twenty percent of your life's work to Evan and Maisie, maybe we should confirm whose blood they actually carry."

Silence.

Real silence. Even the violinist faltered, then stopped.

My father's face went gray. Grant's fingers froze on the stem of his wine glass, white at the knuckles.

Brielle recovered first. Her eyes filled, fast and shining.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Natalie. They're *six.* You're accusing six-year-old children?"

"I'm not accusing them of anything."

"Then what are you doing?"

I turned to the event coordinator hovering by the AV cart. "Can you connect my phone to the screen? The one you used for the slideshow."

She glanced at my father. He didn't answer. She took my phone.

The baby photos of Richard Hart vanished from the giant screen. In their place, white text on black.

*Eight years. That's how long it took me to take everything my best friend ever had.*

Someone gasped.

I swiped. *She carried MY babies for nine months and nearly bled out doing it.*

Swipe. The bedroom. The white sheets.

Swipe. The glass swans on the nightstand.

Swipe. The bare shoulder, and the crescent-moon birthmark.

Aunt Carol knew that birthmark. She'd seen it at every Fourth of July pool party for ten years. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"That's fake." Grant's voice cracked down the middle. "That's—anybody can Photoshop that. Richard, this is insane."

"Someone's impersonating me!" Brielle pressed her fingers to her chest. "Anyone can make a username. Natalie, how could you believe some troll over *me*?"

"The username is b.sloane.wins," I said.

"So someone hates me!"

"Maybe." I took my phone back from the coordinator. My hands were steady. "I'm not asking anyone to believe me tonight."

I turned to face my father.

"I'm asking for one thing. A paternity and maternity test. An independent, accredited lab. Supervised by attorneys, with proper guardianship procedures, so nobody can touch the samples. Not me. Not Grant. Not Brielle."

My father stared at me like he'd never seen me before.

"If I'm wrong," I said, "I'll apologize in front of every person in this room. And you can put that twenty percent wherever you want."

Grant's chair scraped backward. Brielle's hand found the edge of the table and held on.

From the far end of the room, Maisie's small voice rang out in the hush.

"Aunt Bri? Why are you crying?"

Brielle didn't answer her.

She was looking at Grant.

And Grant had already pulled out his phone and started typing.